Keeper of the Sword, Tamer of Chaos
by Plaited Oodleplexes
Summary: My own take on "female royal must marry to ensure succession" - not as lame as it sounds, I swear! Includes vampires, fauns, and a disapproving steward. Currently rated T for some mild language, slight adult themes, and serious butt-kicking.
1. Beginnings

_**A.N. **_

_So this is the closest thing I've come to a real plot that I'm absolutely determined to finish. How it's going to end, I have no idea. 'Twill probably end up around...oh, thirty chapters, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. _

_Two things: First of all, I own this. This is the one thing that I'm absolutely certain I own everything. Please don't steal it. (However, there are a few things here and there that are probably closer to public domain than my ownership.)_

_Secondly, there's a reason I avoid multi-chapter anythings. That reason is that I can't ever be counted upon to do anything in a timely manner unless forced into it. (There's also the reason that I'm working on my last year of high-school, but, y'know. Details.)_

_Thirdly (aha, gotcha! You thought I was done, didn't you?), I'm looking for a skilled beta to make sure that everything's believable and it's not just me. _

_Fourth: enjoy my world. I've had fun making it. Suggestions are always welcome. (Read: please review. ;D)  
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_Tap-tap-tap._

The woman at the massive, well-worn desk laid down her pen. Carefully shaking sand over the wet ink, she called, "Come in, Finny."

_Creeeeeak_.

Age-dark wood protested the motion, but opened to admit Fineagus Mark, who carefully dropped to one knee. "My liege."

High Queen J'katia Barrab, the Keeper of the Sword, Upholder of Peace, Lady of the Colors, and Tamer of Chaos motioned absently, though not unkindly, at her oldest advisor. "Oh, Finny. I _told_ you not to bother with bowing and scraping. Your knees can't take it." Tucking a strand of dark brownish-red hair back into its loose braid, she gestured to a chair. "I suppose we'd better get this over with."

Fineagus rose stiffly to his feet and remained upright. "Propriety, my Lady. Nobody may sit in the High Queen's presence unless she so decrees." His brown eyes, sharp despite their age, remained fixed on a point above J'katia's head, but a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Both Queen and subject knew what she would say next. They had had this exchange so often that the words had become a ritual to both.

J'katia gave a half-exasperated sigh. "Finny. Sit." This time, she pointed a beckoning finger, and a chair scuttled up behind Fineagus, gently bumping the backs of his knees.

"Yes, my Lady." He obediently sat and opened his box of papers. Glancing up, he sighed internally: the Queen was already bent back over her maps and orders. "My Lady?"

"Hmm?" J'katia looked up absently. "Ah. Yes. The daily reports." Her tone of voice equated the words with _muck out the garderobes_ or _embroider samplers_. Leaning back, she laced her fingers behind her head. "Fire away, Finny."

"Yes, my Lady." Picking up the first sheet of paper, Fineagus began. "This was brought by courier this morning. According to Lord Pyfath's report, a dragon has taken up residence in his hunting woods and made off with several of his best brachets."

J'katia snorted in a most unlady-like manner. "Pyfath's always been a pompous old mouse – probably nothing bigger than a drake. But, still. Better safe than sorry. Have Laprar go snoop around down there when he gets back from taking care of that bridge troll."

"As you wish, my Lady." Fineagus made a swift note on the paper, using a pencil drawn from its perch behind one ear. Sometimes, the Queen changed her mind – it never hurt to use a pencil instead of a pen. "The next report is of an outbreak of lycanthropox in the shire Callaighny…"

And so an hour crawled by as J'katia and Fineagus dealt with all the problems that come with ruling a kingdom. Finally, Fineagus replaced the last sheet in the box and closed it.

J'katia sighed in relief. "Is that all, Finny?" She waited expectantly for his reply of, "_Yes, my Lady_," and his creaky exit. To her surprise, though, the old man remained where he was.

"No, my Lady. There is one other thing."

One second, two seconds, six seconds, half a minute ticked past as Fineagan struggled to find the words he wanted, the way to couch his thought so J'katia would not reject them out of hand. Failing, he finally blurted out, "You need to get married."

_Thud!_

J'katia's booted feet dropped abruptly from where they had rested on the corner of the desk and hit the flagstone floor. The queen's face darkened as she stood, her nearly six-foot frame towering over the wizened advisor. "No." Shoving her chair out of the way, she paced over to the tall window, dark eyes cold. "I can't."

"My Lady -"

"_I said no_." A raised hand halted Fineagus's words just as surely as her tone of voice. "No, Finny." Tone softening on the nickname, J'katia leaned her hands on the windowsill, gazing out over her kingdom as the sun clouded over. "I can't get married. Not now."

A soft spatter of rain began to fall, gilding the woods to the south and east of the castle with silver.

J'katia rubbed her eyes tiredly with one hand. "There's a plague of banshees that's been causing trouble out Rannish way. I told Lady Wynn that I'd come out and dispose of them properly."

The words were rhetorical, mere regurgitation of fact to support argument. Fineagus knew that only the Tamer of Chaos could permanently destroy banshees, but he also knew that the best way to win a debate with J'katia was to stay silent until she ran out of breath. He watched her from the side, saying nothing.

"Then there've been reports of more mudslides in Ellworn. Unless I go and ride herd on whomever the current "Lord" is out there, there's no way that retaining walls will get built." She was silent a moment, gripping the stone tightly. "And I need to plan some sort of public appearance of gaiety during the Sunweek to keep morale up…ughhhh." Dropping her head into her hands, J'katia ran scarred fingers through her hair. A single strand came loose, and she stared at it absently, twisting the silver thread until it left white lines across her skin. "Go ahead, Finny, I'm finished."

"Thank you, my Lady." Fineagus carefully placed his box of papers on a table before standing. "May I speak plainly, my Lady?"

That drew a half-pained, half-bitter laugh from the queen. "You always can, Finny. I'm not going to order you hanged for speaking your mind."

Drawing a breath, the advisor quietly moved behind the shelter provided by a hefty chair. "You are getting old, my Lady." He ducked and waited anxiously for the blast of force and anger that was certain to explode at his statement.

Instead, the gray hair broke under the tension, loose ends fluttering in the rising breeze. "I know," she replied quietly, opening her hand. The wind immediately took the strand and whisked it out of sight.

The unexpected response made Fineagus blink. "My Lady?"

J'katia whirled suddenly. The smell of singing leather cushions plucked at the inside of Finny's nose. "I said _I know_. I know I'm getting old, all right?" Bootsteps echoed off the ceiling as she advanced on the chair, eyes hard and hot, that Fineagus sheltered behind. "I'm the one that looks in the mirror every morning and sees a dozen new gray hairs, the one that has to ignore the matrons whispering about my age and lack of husband. I have to put up with 'King' Lorenz's snide insinuations that a woman isn't fit to rule, and the Empress's lack of respect for someone who hasn't yet 'brought a man to heel,' as she puts it."

Fineagus swallowed, hard, and ducked as a bar of pure heat shot through the back of the chair. Perhaps his decision to broach the topic hadn't been the wisest choice. "M-my apologies, my Lady."

Cushions _whooshed_ as J'katia knelt on the chair and leaned over. "Apology –" she sighed "- apology accepted, Finny." She ruffled his fringe of white hair with one hand. "I ask your forgiveness as well – I shouldn't have lost control like that." She extended a hand.

"Forgiveness granted, my Lady." Fineagus accepted her help up, pushing off of stiff knees to stand upright. "However, my point remains. You are not getting any younger, and there are no immediate heirs."

Rolling deep blue eyes, J'katia folded her arms. "I have a cousin."

"If you'll pardon my forwardness, my Lady…do you really consider 'Little Loro' capable of ruling the Swards?"

"No," she admitted reluctantly. "He knows nothing but wine and his dusty old books."

"Exactly, my Lady. It is your duty to the Swards to have a child that will continue the Barrab line. Otherwise, the country will fall into chaos." Fineagus held his breath, hoping that he had played his cards right. J'katia's sense of duty was one of the strongest forces in her already powerful character, and as Tamer of Chaos, she had a responsibility to prevent just that.

J'katia scowled and stalked across the room to sit back at her desk. "That was underhanded, Finny…but I see your point." Idly picking up a quill, she twirled it between thumb and forefinger for a moment before dipping the point in a pot of ink. Rapidly scratching the pen across a clean sheet of rough paper, she ignored the flecks of ink that spotted her hands and tunic as Fineagus looked on in confusion. As soon as J'katia was done, she stood, blowing on the brown letters to dry them, and handed the paper to him.

"Here. That should do the trick." One hard hand on Fineagus's elbow was sufficient to propel him toward the door as he attempted to get a word in edgewise.

"My Lady -"

"Have the scribes make a couple hundred copies of that, and then send the couriers out to distribute them. Oh, and make sure the steward knows. She'll need the time to prepare." A final three steps, and the elderly advisor was in the hall. J'katia winked at him. "Thought you'd never get through to me, eh, Finny?"

_Thump!_

Before Fineagus could reply, the heavy door was closed sharply. The Queen could be heard whistling airily as he looked down at the scroll in his hand.

_LET IT BE KNOWN _

_throughout the Swards that the_

_HIGH QUEEN J'KATIA BARRAB, _

_the Keeper of the Sword, Upholder of Peace, _

_Lady of the Colors, and Tamer of Chaos, _

_has issued a CHALLENGE to all_

_MEN who think themselves worthy:_

_**ANYONE who can satisfactorily COMPLETE**_

_**the Challenge will receive a DUKEDOM and**_

_**the QUEEN'S HAND IN MARRIAGE**_

Fineagus's jaw dropped before he could stop himself, and he did a sort of capering little victory dance in the hall.

"Twenty-five years, Finny my boy, twenty-five years you've been after that woman, and she finally listens!" The aged advisor paused a moment as a thought came to him. "Thank goodness her instincts on ruling are better than her instincts on matrimony, or nothing would ever get done around here…"

He turned and headed for the scribes' hall, still grinning uncontrollably.


	2. Enter the Steward

J'katia waited until Finny's footsteps died away in the direction of the scribes' hall before slumping at her desk. She stared vacantly through a report on the grain harvest, not really thinking about anything, until another subservient knock came at the door.

"Enter." she called, quickly straightening up and dipping a quill. It wouldn't do to be caught looking despondent – bad for morale.

"Thanks you, my Lady." This time, it was Buk'na Damon, the castle steward, who came in, frowning at the creaking hinges. If J'katia wasn't wrong, the solidly-built woman had just made a note to have the offending hardware oiled.

"Don't worry about the hinges, Buk'na. I let them squeak for a reason," J'katia put in before the other woman could open her mouth. "Now," she shuffled a pile of paper aside to make space for her elbows, "what can I do for you?"

Buk'na's face set disapprovingly at the comment about the hinges, but she quickly smoothed it out with a respectful curtsey. "My Lady, Fineagus Mark just ran past me, saying something about getting ready for a large number of guests…?"

"Finny, running?" The Queen chuckled at the mental image. "Hard to imagine, but yes, we should have a ravening horde at the gates within a week, so the guest wing needs to be cleared out."

Buk'na nodded calmly. "Do you have an estimate of how many guests to expect, or shall I have Moira simply stock double what the castle usually consumes?"

Instead of answering, J'katia dug through the stacks of papers that covered most of her desk, sending sheets fluttering to the floor. "Give me one moment, and I'll have a rough – aha, here it is." She waved a red, leather-bound volume roughly two fingers thick before flipping quickly to the back of the book. "Callaighny…Alcatr…" Her voice trailed off as she muttered numbers to herself. "I'd say around eighty or so, not counting servants and relatives."

"Yes, my Lady."

"See to it that everything is ready by two days after the couriers leave. That will be all, Buk'na."

"Thank you, my Lady." Dropping another curtsey, the steward left, wincing at the squealing hinges.

J'katia tried to finish the reports of aggression from the Elddir border pirates, but her thoughts kept straying back to the same topic: marriage.

_Why _did_ I finally let Finny talk me into it, anyway?_ she wondered, scribbling a note on the last page in her signature blue ink.

_Probably because he pulled the "it's your duty" card. _

_ Yeah, well, tough luck._ Pushing back out of her chair, the Queen headed for the door. _I'm recalling that proclamation right now. No sense in letting rumors spread._

_ And go back on your word?_ She paused with her hand on the knob. _Let the Empress or Lorenz find out about _that_, and you'll never hold their respect again._

A low growl escaped her lips as she rested her forehead on the solid wood. _Ugh, I can't even talk _myself_ out of the fool decision. No hope for talking anyone else out of it, then._ Sighing, she returned to the window. _Guess there's no use trying to fight it. _She caught a chance glimpse of herself in the beaten silver mirror that hung above the fireplace, and half-grinned ruefully. The warped metal distorted the reflection, emphasizing the flecks of ink that spotted her gray tunic and the patch on one knee of her black breeches. _One thing's for sure, I'd better get some more reputable clothes._

"Alenna!" Raising her voice as she swiftly navigated the tangle of corridors that was the Bastion of Order, J'katia easily outpaced her guards despite the longsword on one hip. "Alenna!" J'katia burst into her own quarters with all the force of a hurricane. "Ah, there you are."

A slender woman rose from a window-seat and curtsied gracefully, spreading demure green skirts wide. "Yes, my Lady?"

The Queen was already across the sitting room and into her private suite, rummaging through a dusty wardrobe. "Where'd you hide my formals, Alenna?"

The lady-in-waiting glided swiftly after her liege lady. "You ordered most of them sold or given away, my Lady, except for the blue velvet with gold trim and the dark brown silk that has a divided skirt. I believe those are in storage."

"Bother." J'katia backed out of the wardrobe, picked off a cobweb draped over her hair, and looked at it consideringly.

"If my Lady wishes me to arrange for a tailor, I am sure that Master Salvado would be more than happy to oblige." Delicately brushing J'katia off, Alenna continued, "I have heard he has a wide variety of fabrics and styles at his fingertips."

The Queen pushed Alenna away and moved swiftly out of the dressing room. "Fine. Have him up here by tomorrow." Leaning over, J'katia scribbled swiftly on a scrap of parchment and handed it to Alenna. "I need at least one formal, one for hunting, and one for less dressy occasions by then. Whatever else you and he agree on can be delivered later."

Alenna nodded and took the signed order. "Yes, my Lady. Would my Lady also like me to order matching shoes?"

"Yes, I suppose you'd better. That will be all, Alenna."

The lady-in-waiting inclined her head respectfully and withdrew. The muffled _clunk_ of the hall door was audible after a moment. J'katia stood for a moment, thinking. _Warned the Steward. Ordered clothes._ She spared a moment to shudder. Undoubtedly there would be interminable fittings later. _Now. To study._

"Mord – Mord, are you down here?" J'katia called as she descended a staircase with a clatter. "Mord!"

The reclusive spymaster winced visibly, but got up and opened his door. "As I usually am, my Lady."

"Wonderful." Waving away the chair he offered, J'katia remained standing. "I'm sure you've heard about the latest Royal Announcement by now."

Mord half-smiled wryly. "I doubt anyone not deaf has not heard Fineagus's excited whoops." He moved towards his chair, but checked himself in time to catch J'katia's impatient nod before he sat down. "I assume you need dossiers on who's likely to come, what old feuds to be wary of, cultural taboos, etcetera."

"Exactly." J'katia began pacing, though the small room only allowed a few steps each direction. "I probably should've phrased the damn thing less ambiguously – that might've narrowed down the number of fortune-sniffers and those of…questionable intent that we're going to get."

Mord chose to ignore her comment, saying instead, "I shall have the dossiers to you by dinner, my Lady."

"Thank you, Mord. Keep me posted on anything out of the usual." With that, J'katia left in her usual racket, thundering up the stairs and out of sight. Mord sighed in relief. J'katia was a good ruler – by Mord's judgment, one of the best yet to hold the Sword – but she tended to make a lot of noise unless deliberately trying to be quiet, and noise was not conducive to writing eighty or so dossiers in eight hours.

He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from a drawer, the _Peerage_ from its shelf, and began to write. _Alemdar, Lord of. 53 yrs. Widower. Many contacts in Elddir via family ties…_

_A/N: Lurkers are welcome – goodness knows I've done enough of it myself – but there's nothing like reviews to encourage updates. ;)_

_**Clar the Pirate**__: Thankee! I shall definitely try to work on the dialogue (and yes, J'katia's quite a bit older than I, though I have found a few gray hairs here and there .). I was very bad about infodumps in my past writing (a habit which has mostly been eradicated), and I guess extraneous backstory still sneaks in here and there._

_**Foosemittee**__: Your name makes me laugh. xD Pierce and McKinley are some of my favorite authors; you don't know how amazing it is to hear them mentioned in a review of my silly little piece. :) I'm trying to keep a few chapters ahead of what's currently posted, so I have a back-up in case my muse goes on strike._


	3. Information, Applied

_A/N: Mmm, this was painful to write. My time-skipping skills are iffy at best. Kindly be kindly in your reviews. ;)_

By the time the first official carriage rolled up to the Bastion of Order's massive front gates, J'katia had memorized nearly a hundred dossiers, endured innumerable fittings, and was no longer in danger of twisting an ankle when she walked in her formal heeled shoes.

Thankfully, as the hostess and highest-ranking person there, she would be able to sit whenever she pleased, more or less.

_And the less I have to wear these damn things, the better_, she grumbled to herself, sitting down in a chair and surreptitiously easing one foot out beneath the concealment of her horribly impractical skirt. Dress stockings did absolutely nothing to cushion the feet, no matter how delicate and lacy they were. In fact, the lace almost worsened J'katia's discomfort, for she could acutely feel the threads catching where Alenna's swift razor had missed a few coarse hairs around her knees.

_Not that it matters. Nobody _here_ is going to see my knees anyway._ The breakfast hall where J'katia sat was nowhere near full, not a mere fortnight after the announcement. She half-closed her eyes to survey the room: the entire Mirpplith clan, come to cheer on their eldest three sons and a couple of cousins, laughed and clattered teaware in a corner. They were a cheery group, but _Inclined to assume any authority left unattended,_ according to Mord.

A somber pair sitting alone was the young Earl of Cie'nyde and his younger sister, their plain, dark clothes indicating both their _Status: in mourning for father, dead four months_ and their _Financial situation: not rich_. As J'katia watched over the rim of her teacup, they rose and left, pausing in the doorway to exchange courteous nods with someone entering. Restraining her curiosity, J'katia leaned back in her chair, tracking Sir Jaenir Torath's movement through the room. The knight was the subject of several scandals at the moment, including his wife's elopement with some Elddir pirate and his infant son's mysterious death. Gossip held that he was attempting to marry his remaining daughter, the headstrong Elishae, to a werewolf noble from across the Ridgicarn Mountains.

J'katia took a meditative sip of tea – lemon, strongly brewed, with a generous spoonful of honey – and considered the travel-worn man discretely, as she had all the suitors upon their arrivals. He was well-muscled, as most knights were, yet not overly so. Threads of silver wove through the queue holding dark brown hair back from a square, angular face. Conservatively cut, a dark blue shirt and brown breeches covered Jaenir's powerful frame; the way the fabric hung suggested a strong body beneath.

Oddly enough, Sir Jaenir apparently had come straight to the small dining hall. _Curious_. Most prospective suitors made their formal entrances in the evening, before dinner, so as to clean up beforehand. J'katia recalled the file on the Toraths: _Unpredictable. Financial situation: nearly bankrupt. Status: chaotic due to wife's elopement, son's death, and mounting debts. Lands: Small, but include the Warren. _

A commotion around the doors caught J'katia's attention, and she looked up in time to see the most mismatched couple she'd ever seen come gliding in: a dark-haired, willowy-framed girl of average height, with her hand resting on the arm of a rusty-furred faun.

The two approached J'katia's seat at the far end of the room. The girl sank into a flawless curtsey, spreading her deep green skirts wide, but had to nudge the faun into an awkward bow.

Panting, a gnome scuttled into the breakfast hall and slid to a halt in front of J'katia's table. "Your Majesty, the Lady Elishae Torath, and the Faun Hyssop," he announced, back ramrod straight.

Keeping her face expressionless, J'katia nodded formally to the two younglings. "Be welcome to the Bastion of Order, Lady Torath, Faun Hyssop."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Elishae replied, her crisp vowels belying Mountain heritage, and gave the faun a pointed sideways look until he stammered something along the same lines.

As Elishae and the faun respectfully withdrew to a table, a movement – or lack thereof – from Sir Jaenir caught J'katia's eye: the powerful knight was completely motionless. Not a single muscle moved, but the very stillness of Sir Jaenir's features betrayed that he was hard-pressed to control himself in the face of his blatantly wayward daughter.

Sir Jaenir was in fact clamping his teeth tightly on the inside of one cheek to keep from taking Elishae over his knee then and there. He'd been too late. Her appearance at court – in front of the Queen, no less – had to have been a calculated move to establish herself as independent from her father. She was sixteen; she could enter into binding agreements and purchase property, even sit in the Court if she so wished. Once she had gotten that nod of acceptance from the Queen herself, there was no way he could address her as anything but an adult. How else could he interpret it? Elishae was no stranger to such maneuvers. He himself had allowed her to watch old crystals of the local Council meetings, to listen to the criers, to stay up late when other local political figures came to dinner. He had no-one to blame but himself…and the damn troll-bridge scuffle that'd held up traffic for hours outside of Nivvy. If only he'd gotten to court faster, put a flea in the Queen's ear before Elishae had had a chance to make her entrance…

Abruptly, Sir Jaenir shook his head, as if ridding himself of a thought, and turned towards the sideboards that held breakfast. What was done was done. Fortunately, Elishae and that damned goatkid were sitting and sipping tea on the other side of the room. He didn't think he'd be able to keep from taking her over his knee if he had to walk past her.

He took a plate from the stack and began to move down the line of dishes. _Eggs, ham, bread, fruit_…the Queen certainly was not stinting her guests' meals, though it was a relatively simple spread. As far as Jaenir knew, the royal treasury was not in a position to throw extravagant banquets for every meal, but nor did it force skimping along on half-rations. _Plain, hearty fare would be good for the court,_ the knight mused, layering thick slices of ham atop two pieces of bread and cheese. _Though_, he glanced around the room,_ it's nowhere near as bad as it was under Paeitr._

He suppressed a snort and made his way to an empty table. J'katia's uncle had been an idiot. "Pompous Pete," the late monarch had been called; though never to his face. Ancestors forbid that anyone suggest that perhaps innumerable nights of ceremonial dinners and shimmer pipes could be deleterious to the health of the king and kingdom.

Yes, Paeitr had handed his young niece a nicely tangled mess, Jaenir mused, taking an absent bite of his sandwich: a country in staggering debt to half their neighbors and on the brink of war with the rest and an aristocracy killing itself off left and right; not to mention crime, corruption, and –

"Sir Jaenir! Why, what a pleasant surprise to see you and your daughter here!"

His mental wanderings interrupted, Jaenir looked up to see the Baroness Matr'ia Luarmath sitting down across the table. "Baroness," he replied, giving a civil nod and trying to give the impression that he didn't really feel up to social interaction.

The elderly noblewoman apparently either didn't notice or didn't care, because she launched into a lengthy recital of all the gossip of the past ten years. Sir Jaenir concentrated on his sandwich, only paying enough attention to nod or murmur in the right spots. The Baroness seemed to feel she had an obligation to ensure everyone was up to date on all the scandals, and Jaenir had been her unwilling victim more than a few times.

He chewed faster.

"…and then _she_ said that she'd not received any letters for a week, but she was clearly lying, because I know for a fact that no fewer than six envelopes were slipped under her - "

Jaenir swallowed the last of his sandwich and stood. "Baroness, I hate to interrupt you, but I have some business to attend to. I'm afraid I must bid you farewell," he said, courteously kissing the wrinkled hand she held out to him before moving quickly out the door.

As soon as he was out of sight, Baroness Matr'ia nodded to herself, rose, and made her own way out of the breakfast hall. He was a good one, that Jaenir, a dependable man in a pinch. Rather taciturn, but that was usually desired over garrulousness. She allowed herself a smile. Those hips and shoulders didn't hurt one bit, that was for certain. It was worth betting upon that half the eligible ladies had been sorrowed when he hadn't had his marriage annulled when his wife ran off. But then again, if he had, then there would be even worse rumors sticking to his heels.

Shaking her head – the poor knight didn't deserve half the slander flung his way – the Baroness shuffled into her small apartments. As a comparatively close relative to the current Queen, Matr'ia had the right to live in the Bastion with the rest of the clan. Granted, Matr'ia reflected, settling herself into a comfortable chair at the window, she was only a great-aunt, and by marriage at that. But then again, it wouldn't reflect well upon J'katia to put a mature – hah! "Elderly" was more like it – widow out of house and home, particularly one who had contacts throughout most of the known world.

She hummed to herself and picked up her tatting. Yes, there were advantages to a far-roaming trader as a mate, indeed there were.

_Tap-tap-tap_.

…and there came one of them now. Smiling, the Baroness called, "It's unlatched, my dear, do come in…"

_A/N: So there it is. Hopefully you haven't run screaming for the main page yet. Suggestions, constructive criticism, and all other forms of non-flame reviews are greatly appreciated. :)_


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